


Metropolis

by theladyscribe



Series: Metropolis [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: All My Trade Feels Without the AU, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Cyborgs, M/M, Pittsburgh Penguins, Trades
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-08 23:37:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6880138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyscribe/pseuds/theladyscribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sullivan puts Carl and Phil with Bones, and there's something about the three of them that's electric.</p><p>Carl mentions it to Phil once, and Phil gives him that small smile he has and says, "It's me."</p><p>It takes Carl a moment to get the joke. He forgets, sometimes, that Phil is mostly made up of wires and synthetic material. Phil is watching him, so he hurries to smile back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Metropolis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [downjune](https://archiveofourown.org/users/downjune/gifts).



> Dear downjune, I am not sure this is the story you wanted, but it is the story that appeared in my head as soon as I got your prompts. Who knew that cyborg!Phil was a thing that I needed in my life! Anyway, I hope you like it.
> 
> Many thanks to hazel3017 for the beta, as always. She went to sleep before I finished this, so all mistakes are my own.

Carl has been in Pittsburgh for barely a week, and though he is familiar enough with the visitors' side of CONSOL, he gets turned around in the maze of offices and training rooms on the home team side of things. This is his excuse when he accidentally walks in on the team's cyborg tech opening up Phil's thigh.

"Sorry," he says, trying not to stare as Scott peels back Phil's synthetic skin. "I was looking for the massage room."

"Two doors down on the left," Phil tells him, apparently unconcerned by the tangle of wires being pulled out of his leg. "Ask for Molly if she's available; she's great."

"Thanks."

Phil gives him a small smile. "No problem, dude."

Carl nods and backs out of the room, following Phil's directions to the massage room. He hopes he wasn't too rude in staring, but Phil is the first cyborg he's ever worked with. Sure, he's played against cyborgs many times — almost half the league has at least one on their team — but neither the Rangers nor the Ducks had one. It's just another new experience to add to his list for the year, alongside being traded _twice_ , playing for the team that definitely hated him last year, and being taken out to dinner by Sidney Crosby.

Carl kind of wishes the list would stop growing.

*

Carl calls the broker Sid recommended at their dinner to find an apartment. He doesn't want anything huge or with a long lease — still gun-shy after being traded twice in six months. The broker finds him a studio flat above a dog biscuit bakery in Sewickley. It's below his anticipated budget, but it's the right combination of comfortable and convenient, with the option to sublet if he decides to buy a place over the summer.

It's unfurnished, so he's stuck in the downtown hotel until his bed arrives from Anaheim.

The All-Star break comes and goes. Carl spends most of it making arrangements to have his things shipped from California and watching movies. He catches up on the Oscar nominees he hasn't seen yet, even walking the ten minutes from his hotel to the Harris Theater to see the short films.

When everyone comes back to work on Monday, Phil asks him, "What'd you do over the break?"

Carl shrugs as he pulls on his socks. "Found an apartment, went to the movies."

"See anything good?"

There was an animated short film about two best friends who became cosmonauts. One was human and the other was cyborg, and they went to space together. It was from the cyborg's point of view, and at the end you realized he was the human the whole time. It reminded Carl of Phil, though they're hardly best friends. They're barely even acquaintances.

"Yeah," he says, "I did." He doesn't elaborate, and Phil doesn't push.

"Cool. You move in to your place yet?"

"Not yet. Waiting for the rest of my stuff to get here."

Phil nods. "Let me know if you want help unpacking."

Carl has already hired a service for that, but he doesn't say so. Phil is probably just offering to be nice anyway. "Will do," he says, standing up and heading for the practice rink.

*

Carl has been on a line with Geno and Phil for all of six games when Geno goes down at the same time as Fehr. After that, it feels like Coach Sullivan shuffles the lines almost every day. Carl spends time on every line, centered mostly by Sid and Matt and occasionally Kevin and Sunny. He's not matched with Phil every time, but they're together more than they're not.

They play the Ducks and Rangers back to back in Pittsburgh less than a month after his arrival. The game against Anaheim is cathartic. Carl gets the Penguins' third goal in the last seconds of the first period, his first as a Penguin.

Two days later, the Rangers come to town. It's as surreal as it was playing against them with Anaheim, hearing Mats and Hank and the others on the ice but knowing they're not calling for him.

The Penguins lose, a 3-0 shutout, and Carl hangs his head. He knows the loss isn't solely on him, but he wanted to show them, to prove that they'd regret trading him. He isn't looking forward to playing the Rangers three more times, if this is what it's going to be like.

He's supposed to meet up with Mats, but he's not sure he can. He picks up his phone to back out of their plans, but Phil nudges him with an elbow.

"Never gets easy, playing against your old team," he says. "I should know. They still boo me in Boston."

"And Toronto?" Carl asks.

Phil smiles. "They booed me in Toronto even when I was playing for them."

*

When Geno comes back, Carl returns to his line, but the chemistry isn't quite there. They work through it, trust the system, and just as Carl thinks they've got it, Geno goes down again.

It's a devastating blow, or it should be, but Sullivan doesn't let them dwell on it. He puts Carl and Phil with Bones, and there's something about the three of them that's electric.

Carl mentions it to Phil once, and Phil gives him that small smile he has and says, "It's me."

It takes Carl a moment to get the joke. He forgets, sometimes, that Phil is mostly made up of wires and synthetic material. Phil is watching him, so he hurries to smile back.

*

They have three days between games at home, including one with no obligations. The playoffs start soon, so Carl spends the off-day running errands he knows he won't have time for in the next month.

He calls his parents, stocks up on toilet paper, goes to the grocery store. When he gets back, he notices the dog biscuit bakery sign. "Show your Pens pride, wear your gear, get 20% off!"

Carl hasn't been inside the bakery; he's not sure they know he lives upstairs. He puts away his groceries, grabs his Penguins cap and heads back downstairs.

The shop is quiet, as he expected just before noon on a Monday. There's a young woman with a service dog chatting with the friendly girl behind the glass cases at the back of the store. They don't seem to notice Carl, so he wanders along the edges of the store, perusing the rack of leashes and collars.

As the woman and her dog leave, Carl walks up to the glass cases. The girl is restocking some of the baked goods, and when she sees him, her eyes widen briefly. "I'll be right with you," she says, turning to set her now-empty tray on the counter behind her. "What can I do for you?"

"I'd like to buy some treats," Carl says.

"Anything in particular?"

Carl looks down at the case. It's filled with neat rows of biscuits and cakes that look good enough to be human treats. He spies a tray of egg-shaped cookies decorated like penguins. "Those," he says, nodding at the cookies.

The girl smiles. "An excellent choice. These have been very popular."

She boxes half a dozen penguin cookies and rings them up before tucking two doggy biscottis into the bag. "For luck," she says, still smiling.

"Thanks."

*

Once Carl has the treats, he calls Phil, who picks up immediately.

"Hey, Hags, what's up?"

"I have something for you," he blurts. "Well, for your dog."

"...Okay."

Carl tilts his head back. This was dumb, but he's got no choice but to bluster through. "I live above a bakery for dogs," he explains. "I bought some treats. For Stella."

Phil is laughing now, but it sounds pleased, not mocking. "You bought treats for my dog?" he repeats. "You...wanna come over?"

Carl huffs out a laugh of his own. "Yeah, if that's okay. Yeah."

"Sure," Phil says. "Come on over."

*

They clinch second place in the Metropolitan and have to wait for the rest of the order to shake itself out. The Islanders don't make much of an effort against the Flyers, so the Penguins play the Rangers in the first round. Carl fields questions about the matchup in every scrum leading up to the first game. He tells himself that he's reached the point where it no longer phases him. The Rangers are just another team. He'll be fine.

And he is fine, for the first two games, a win and a loss. Phil scores the only Pittsburgh goals in the 4-2 loss, and Carl doesn't factor in either of them.

Playing in New York, though, is hard. This time last year, the roar of the crowd at Madison Square was a boost, energy he could draw on. Now, Carl ducks his head, praying he won't get booed for something he had no control over.

*

He doesn't score a goal until game five, a resounding win that makes the rafters shake with the shouts from the crowd. Carl still can't believe it, an hour after the game, as he finally gets ready to head home for the night. He walks past the training rooms on his way out and sees Scott working on Phil's wiring again.

"Hey," Phil says. "You looking for someone?"

"Just leaving."

"Wait up?" Phil asks.

"Sure." Carl starts to back out of the room, but Phil stops him.

"We're almost done. Unless it makes you squeamish." There's a bit of a challenge in his voice, like Phil is used to it.

Carl shakes his head. It does make him a little dizzy, but he forces himself to watch as Scott tucks the wires back into Phil's leg and carefully stitches the synthskin back together. "Doesn't it hurt?" he asks, tearing his eyes away from the sight. "Getting stitched up like that?"

"It tickles. And it itches like hell if it's not stitched back evenly."

"The skin can get uneven?"

"Oh yeah," Phil says and turns over his hand to show him a puckered scar that runs along the meat of his thumb. "Got myself with a skate blade when I was in high school, stitched up by the school trainer who hadn't really worked with synth before."

"Does it… does it still itch? I mean, that can’t be comfortable, right?" Carl asks. He looks at the scar, the slight ridge of uneven skin. He's been hanging out with Phil for months now, but this is the first time he’s noticed it.

He’s been noticing a lot of things about Phil, recently.

"Nah, it quits itching once it's fused together. Leaves a mark, though." Phil quirks a smile. "I could have it fixed, but it's not worth the trouble."

Scott ties off the thread and pats Phil's leg. "You're done."

Carl glances down; the synthskin is already fusing together, only the faintest line and Scott's neat stitches still visible. He looks away.

"You're the best." Phil hops off the table and pulls his track pants back up. He catches Carl's eye again. "Let me change real quick?"

Carl follows him back to the dressing room, waiting patiently while Phil puts his game day suit back on. They're the only ones in the room, though Carl sees that Sid's stuff is still hanging up, waiting for him to be done with his post-game routine.

"I'm starving," Phil says when he's dressed. "You wanna get something to eat?"

Carl already had a protein shake and a sandwich from the canteen, but the adrenaline is finally starting to wear off and he's hungry again. "Okay."

*

They go to an all-night sushi bar Carl found during his All-Star break movie marathon. It's run by a cyborg couple who already know Carl by sight and always seat him in a quiet corner of the restaurant. None of the servers seem to know or care who he is, and their server for the night doesn't even blink at Phil when she comes to take their orders.

She brings them wine and dumplings first, followed by huge plates of sushi and nigiri. Carl and Phil don't talk much, both too busy eating to speak. As they start to slow down, Phil holds up his glass.

"I guess we should have toasted at the start, but —" He shrugs in that self-deprecating way he has. He waits for Carl to raise his own glass, and then he says, "Here's to Pittsburgh. May it always be the island of misfit toys."

Carl raises his eyebrows. He's never thought of himself as a misfit, or at least, he hadn't until he wound up in Anaheim. Once he got over the initial shock of the trade, he'd been excited about it. Nervous, sure, but he wanted it to work out. When it didn't, well. The fact that he was traded again wasn't a surprise. But to Pittsburgh — 

"Carl?" Phil's voice knocks him out of his thoughts.

"Sorry," he says. He lifts his glass up again. "To Pittsburgh."

Phil grins and clinks their glasses together, draining his in one long swallow. Carl does the same. It's better than letting himself stare at the line of Phil's neck as he finishes his wine.

*

The series against the Caps is as vicious as everyone expected it to be. By the time they get to game six, everyone is a battered mess of bumps and bruises. Except Phil, of course, unflappable and undamaged as ever.

They go into the game upbeat, confident they can end it here, tonight, on home ice. By the end of the third, Carl's legs feel like jelly and he just wants the night to be over. His line has had a great night — Phil scored two of their goals, and Carl has the third — but one-third of his ice time has been on special teams. Carl is weary, and with overtime looming, they've got an eternity to go.

Sully encourages them as they leave the ice for intermission, offering fist-bumps and back-slaps on the way into the locker room. Carl glances around the room as the team finishes filing in. Everyone looks drawn, nervy, like they're teetering between shoring themselves up and falling apart. Even Phil looks haggard.

Sid comes in, somehow managing to look cool and collected with sweat pouring down his face. He sits down, wipes his forehead with a towel, and starts to speak.

"Guys, we still have a game here. We're still in a decent spot. We want to finish it out, and we've got another game if we don't do it tonight. We all know that, but we can't stop playing. We can't just fold this game. We're still in a great spot. What's the past is the past. You can't do anything about it now." Sid looks all around the room. "One more goal and this game's over."

The team is quiet for a moment, and then Horny starts up. "Yeah, boys, yeah, boys." He claps his hands, and it seems to fire everyone up. Before long, the room is smiling again, the energy back. There's a crackle in the air when Phil puts a hand on Carl's shoulder, an electric thrill that goes through him as they prepare to get back on the ice.

Carl doesn't know if it's real or imagined.

Whatever it is, they come out flying in overtime, moving so fast Carl feels as if he's moved to another level. The feeling pays dividends, too, as Bones snags the game-winner off Carl's rebound.

Carl gets buried under the crush of bodies, Phil pressed close enough that his beard tickles at Carl's ear. And Carl, Carl _wants_ , furiously, blood rushing in his ears no longer solely on account of the screams of the crowd.

*

Carl's still humming with energy as everyone starts to clear out. The rookies want to go to a club, invite everyone to go, but Carl needs something quieter.

"Sushi?" Phil asks, as if he can read Carl's mind.

Carl nods, staring straight ahead. He still feels a little out of control, like if he looks at Phil, he can't be held accountable for what he might do.

"I gotta check in with Scott," Phil says, "but it shouldn't take long."

"I'll wait." Phil walks away, and Carl immediately turns to Bones, who is finishing getting dressed. "You wanna go with us? I think we owe you a million and one dinners for that goal."

Bones laughs and says, "No thanks. I'm not third-wheeling tonight."

"What?" Carl can feel his ears turning pink. He thought he's been subtle.

Bones eyes him. "You know Phil is into you, right?"

" _What_?" There's blood rushing in his ears again, and he sits down heavily.

"Dude," Bones says as he adjusts his tie, "maybe you guys should talk."

*

The sushi restaurant is quiet, an oasis of calm that soothes Carl's pounding heart. He can feel Phil's eyes on him, but he doesn't know what to say. He knows Bones thinks they should talk, but Carl isn't sure he's ready for that. He's still adjusting to Pittsburgh, and though he feels like he's found his place with the team, he isn't sure he's found his place _here_ , yet. And what if Bones is wrong, misreading Phil? What if _Carl_ is wrong, and Phil is really just friendly? The thought threatens to overwhelm him, to render him completely speechless.

Luckily, Phil opens the conversation.

"You know, this time last year, I was sitting in my penthouse in Toronto watching you and the Rangers knock the Caps out of the playoffs."

"You were?"

"Yeah." Phil smiles at him. "I like this a lot more."

Carl is saved from having to come up with an immediate response by their server, coming to take their order and to deliver the wine they requested on arrival.

After she leaves, Carl takes a fortifying sip of his wine and confesses, "I wasn't happy when I first got here. I haven't been happy since this time last year."

"And now?" Phil prompts, gaze intense.

Carl meets his eyes, smiles tentatively. "I think I could be."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Metropolis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7180544) by [jediseagull](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jediseagull/pseuds/jediseagull)




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